


A Heart Like a Brittle Christmas Ornament

by thevalesofanduin



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Minor Character(s), Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:46:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27783199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thevalesofanduin/pseuds/thevalesofanduin
Summary: Jaskier is happy running a B&B out of the mansion that is his ancestral home, mostly because it would make his parents turn in their graves. But the eccentric, amateur-novelist didn't move from bustling Oxenfurt to small, coastal Lettenhove just to save his late family's estate. If he'd had a perfect life with nothing to hide back in the city he called home for over a decade, no amount of guilt would have kept him from selling the mansion and surrounding grounds to a willing investor.Yet here he is, telling himself that he's happy. Really, he is.But then, single-dad Geralt of Rivia moves to town, re-opening the glassblowing studio in the charming and historical center of Lettenhove. His daughter Cirilla is a delight at the age of sixteen, but Jaskier only needs to take one look at Geralt to decide that he looks like nothing but trouble wrapped in handsome gift-wrapping.A bit too easy on the eyes, a wry sense of humor and not only a daughter but also an ex-wife. Jaskier knows the type, and he'll be damned if he is going to run out of Lettenhove making the same mistake he made in Oxenfurt.
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 155
Kudos: 446





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Time to start posting my annual Christmas fic to celebrate what I always find the most wonderful time of the year! I'll get back to Sound of War when this is wrapped up like a pretty Christmas present, promise.

When Jaskier steps out of his car he is met with a cold, biting wind and a steady drizzle that’s hitting him in the face almost horizontally.

There is no Autumn glow here, no bright sun on a crisp day and cute men and women alike wrapped in their colorful scarves with their pumpkin spice latte’s. Here there’s a muddy drive that should’ve been covered in gravel years ago, old trees with twisted branches that seem to lose their leaves at the first gust of salty Autumn wind carrying over the sea and a mansion full of memories.

Same old Lettenhove, he thinks with a shiver and wishes he could just get into his car and leave the place like he did back when he was eighteen.

But he can’t leave, not this time. Not when he _chose_ to be here.

Gods, he doesn’t know what possessed him to agree to all of this.

Shock, probably.

Because he hadn’t expected to receive a call from the police, stating he was the listed emergency contact of his almost-estranged parents who had gotten into a car accident and _died_.

Hadn’t expected to arrange his parents funeral at the age of twenty-eight and being left the sole inheritor of their entire estate.

He _had_ expected the rest of the family to be upset and petty about it, in true Pankratz-family style.

From his aunt Margret telling him to dry his tears and stop his acting right there in front of his parents’ closed caskets, to his cousin Ellie threatening to drag him to court for daring to be the sole inheritor of the estate his parents left behind. _He_ is the disgraceful son that flaked on his parents the moment he got the chance and, as such, doesn’t have a right to either be upset or inherit.

Money always changes people, and it had changed his father’s side of the family generations ago.

It’s almost hysterical, then, that for all the reasons Jaskier is here money isn’t one of them.

In fact, if this had been about _money_ he’d have sold the whole mansion and surrounding grounds to the first willing party with a decent offer. The estate might look big on paper, but he’s heard his parents argue enough to know it’s a big money-pit just like any other old estate nowadays.

No, he is here out of guilt.

 _Dearest Julian,_ his mother’s letter, that he’d been handed along with the will, had started.

It had been a heartfelt letter, really, and Jaskier admits he cried reading it. For while he didn’t get along with his parents, and he liked to pretend they didn’t exist he certainly never wished them _dead_. Never wished for the inheritance—he _had_ assumed Ellie would get it, considering how much his mother had always adored her. He certainly never had expected to read how his mother had fallen in love with the mansion when marrying his father, and that while she understood they had their differences, her biggest wish was for him to experience his childhood home that same way.

And well, _fuck_ , he couldn’t sell it after reading that, now could he?

Essi had thought it romantic, an estate in the countryside and him the young, eligible bachelor rescuing it just like in the movies. Had gone on to say that even if he didn’t find it romantic, considering the situation in Oxenfurt it surely was _convenient_.

Which… she wasn’t necessarily _wrong_ about that last bit.

But that didn’t mean it hurt any less and he wanted it any more.

Because it’s not his best friend that’s leaving home-sweet-home Oxenfurt with a tarnished reputation and a broken heart for a countryside estate with more memories than he’d like attached to it.

It’s not her that’s going to be lonely, in charge of restoration, finances and landscaping.

Romantic, both his mother and Essi had thought the Pankratz mansion to be.

He scoffs and draws up his hood to at least protect himself a bit from the biting ocean wind as he unpacks the few boxes he’s brought from his car, thinking that he certainly doesn’t see any romance here.


	2. Chapter 2

**3 years later**

“Triss,” Jaskier whines as he leans heavily against the counter of Merigold’s Café and looks up at his friend with what he hopes are proper puppy-dog eyes, “I want another coffee!”

Triss, owner of Merigold Café and creator of what Jaskier swears is one of the _best_ latte macchiato, frowns at him although amusement shines clearly in her eyes. “You’ve had _three_ shots of espresso in the last half hour,” she says and then leans her head to the side with a obviously fake thoughtful expression. “Will they charge me with manslaughter if you spontaneously combust due to the caffeine overdose?”

“Oh come on, I know you once made someone an order with a quadruple shot!”

“I’m still going to take pictures of your orders and shame you on Instagram,” she threatens.

Jaskier slumps in his seat at the little coffee bar. “I’m too tired to care, I just want a coffee.”

Triss rolls her eyes, even if she goes to make him another coffee. “You need sleep, not caffeine.”

“I would have,” Jaskier sighs, “if those idiot guests didn’t insist on having an _early_ breakfast for which they ended up being one and a half hour late.”

“Couldn’t you go wake them?”

Jaskier huffs. “I doubt that’s good for my TripAdvisor rating,” he says and it’s meant to be a joke but god, if only he could only go back four years and tell younger-him that in the future he’d be worried about TripAdvisor ratings of his B&B rather than Goodreads reviews on his newest novel.

It certainly wasn’t the future he’d ever envisioned for himself but well, he has the mansion and it was either make money with that or go bankrupt.

He hadn’t had _many_ ideas what to do with the estate when he’d inherited it, but there had been options. But none of them had sounded quite as much as a scandal to the good Pankratz name as something as inapt as a B&B.

So he’d done up some of the many bedrooms, spent an absurd amount of time marketing Pankratz B&B as a seaside escape and three years after inheriting, his ancestral home has become a relatively successful B&B.

It’s not romance but it’s not such a bad life either.

Really, it isn’t.

He picks up the coffee Triss kindly put in front of him while he was lost in thoughts about his perfectly acceptable life and takes a sip.

“Wait, Triss, is this decaf?”

\---

He’s off to Sabrina’s bakery after he’s had his fill of caffeine and Triss is getting busy with her mid-morning rush.

He does a grocery run at the big shopping center two towns over once a week, but likes to have freshly baked bread and pastries delivered every morning. There are three bakeries in town, but Sabrina is a friend of Triss and her son Jakob is happy to earn himself some pocket money running bread deliveries every morning so he’s been a regular ever since he started the B&B.

He also likes to go over because Sabrina always has all the good gossip.

“Anything to share today, my dear?” he asks as he walks into the otherwise empty bakery.

Sabrina laughs and brushes a strand of hair out of her face. “Heard they finally found a tenant for the glassblowing studio.”

Jaskier raises an eyebrow. “They did? Do people still _buy_ that kind of stuff?”

Sabrina shrugs. “It’s on trend again, I think. Besides, I think Dijkstra had such trouble finding a tenant at all that the rent is a joke by now.”

Jaskier huffs. “Not like he needs the money,” he mumbles because Dijkstra owns about _half_ the town, the man really doesn’t need pity when it comes to having to let one of his properties at a somewhat low price.

“It’ll be good to have the studio opened again,” Sabrina says, ignoring his muttered statement. “It’s never good for our image, having a closed shop.”

With the small, historical center of Lettenhove being as popular with tourists as it is, Sabrina certainly makes a fair point. However, despite the good news for their little town, Jaskier can’t help but wonder: “What do you think a glassblower looks like?”

“Married, I’m sure,” Sabrina says, giving him a pointed look that's either filled with pity or judgement.

Just like everyone else in this damned town, Jaskier thinks just a tad bitterly. Small-town romance is really only attainable for a heroine in a Katie Fforde novel.

“Ah well,” he sighs out loud, “a man can dream.”

When he leaves the bakery after placing his order, Sabrina pushes one of her butter croissants at him over the counter and he's very certain that _that's_ pity.

\---

He's off to Kaer Morhen Accountancy next, with his little shoebox of receipts and paperwork because if it's one thing Jaskier can't do on his own it's his _finances_.

All those numbers, balance sheet, income statement, _taxes_.

No, he'd much rather leave all of that to the professionals lest he be thrown in jail for unknowingly committing some form of tax fraud.

The bell above the entrance of the small office chimes as Jaskier walks in, and old man Vesemir looks up from his computer.

Vesemir is an impressive man. Not the tallest, perhaps, but with broad shoulders, shoulder-length gray hair that’s accompanied by a fitting mustache and a judgmental gaze that initially made Jaskier think the man hated his guts. But, he found out from Triss, that’s just Vesemir and after having known the man for three years he’s come to feel that Vesemir holds a begrudging fondness for him.

Probably.

“How’s my favorite accountant!” Jaskier greets as he closes the door behind him. “I’ve come to drop off some paper stuff I’ve collected over the past weeks.”

Vesemir heaves a heavy sigh—which, Jaskier is sure, is a massive exaggeration—and gets up. "Could've just taken pictures of these with your phone and thrown them in the Cloud as well with the rest of the invoices."

Jaskier grins, because sure he could have and it would’ve been quicker as well, "but then I wouldn't have had the chance to see you!"

"A shame," Vesemir drawls and takes the box from Jaskier, opening it with his standard look of disappointment. He’s always said that the way an entrepreneur delivers their documents to him, tells him a lot about them. And, well, it doesn’t get more disorganized than a shoe-box full of receipts. “But, I suppose you being here is not a complete waste of time. I’ve finalized your third quarter VAT submission, need you to sign it so it can be submitted.”

“See, my gut told me you’d need me for something!” Jaskier exclaims with a grin.

He certainly isn’t here because his last guests left this morning and the mansion always feels too big and empty when it’s just him.

No, no, not at all.

\---

Truth is, that when Jaskier gets home that day after running mostly useless errands, the Pankratz mansion _does_ feel too big and too empty.

He used to love it as a child, running through the halls and finding new places to hide. It had been an adventure, albeit a lonely one being an only child that lived just outside of town.

And lonely it still is, although he will only admit that to himself.

It’s not that he’s a city-boy through-and-through because the thing is, he’s _not_.

He likes Lettenhove with its friendly faces and almost predictable small-town rhythm. He enjoys running the B&B most days, despite its hard work and sometimes meagre income. He’s even started a vegetable patch and he’s damn proud of how well it’s doing, even if Essi makes fun of him for it.

She doesn’t understand, he tells himself. Living in Oxenfurt still with her parties, disaster Tinder coffee-dates and shoe-box apartment shared with Shani and some stranger that replaced Jaskier.

He doesn’t even miss Oxenfurt that much anymore—even if he did, he doubts he will ever go back.

He just misses having _someone_.

Essi says he should just use Tinder like a normal person and he’s tried, _really_ he has. But their community is small, rural and mostly married aside from a few farmers and the librarian a town over. And after going on a date with a pig-farmer, Jaskier had quickly decided that _that_ wasn’t for him.

Okay, he had actually matched with Renfri almost two years ago. She’d been a fiercely independent whirlwind and he’d spent many nights watching her lovingly restore a motorcycle. Then, just when he felt he could fall in love with her, she’d finished her restoration project, sold the shop and announced she was tired of Lettenhove and would take her bike to tour through Europe. She’s in Eastern Europe now, according to her Instagram, living her best life.

Meanwhile Jaskier is here, sipping wine by his lonesome self in his kitchen hoping that the glassblower coming to town is going to be around his age, handsome and single.

_As if._


	3. Chapter 3

“They’ve arrived,” Triss tells him a few weeks later, grinning excitedly.

Jaskier raises an eyebrow. “They?”

“Sabrina told you about the glassblower, right?”

“Ah, the glassblower and his wife?” he asks, hiding his completely irrational disappointment behind a joke that would perhaps make a good name for a fantasy novel.

“No,” Triss shakes her head and her curls bob a little as she does, “the glassblower and his daughter.”

Well, Jaskier thinks, that’s still disappointing. For if there’s a child there is a woman involved which means Jaskier _won’t_ get involved.

Shame me once and all that jazz.

He still goes over to the studio, because he’s at least polite and, he tells himself, only slightly curious.

The studio is at the end of the main road through town, around which all shops are clustered. It’s a small place with white-washed brick and black window trims just like most other buildings around the main street. The pride and charm of Lettenhove.

There’s a white van parked in front of the workshop, half on the street and half on the pavement and a teenage girl is standing in the back, checking her phone.

“Hi there,” Jaskier calls out when he gets closer.

The girl looks up at him with curious ice-blue eyes that fit well with her ash blonde hair that’s been pulled up in a messy bun. “Hi there,” she echoes, sounding amused, and then she shouts: “Dad! Someone’s here to say welcome.”

A slightly disgruntled “again?” is muttered from inside the workshop and Jaskier resists the urge to laugh.

He still remembers his own welcome to Lettenhove very well.

But any beginning of a joke falls from Jaskier’s lips when the man steps out of the door.

Because _holy shit_ , he’s got to be one of the hottest persons Jaskier’s ever met in his life. Tall, muscular, his white hair— _white_ hair which certainly doesn’t look like it’s from age and it’s unfair how well the man pulls it off—pulled up into an honest to God man-bun, strong jaw and, and… well Jaskier could go on for _days_ but those amber-golden eyes are currently staring him down and right, he should probably say something shouldn’t he?

“Ah, small-town politeness?” Jaskier asks and laughs, a bit awkwardly perhaps because _phew_. “We’re all very happy to have the studio let again.”

The man gives him a rather unimpressed look. “So I’ve been told.”

“Better get used to all of us noisy folk,” Jaskier says with a laugh. “A new arrival is a novelty and everyone will talk about it for _months_ , I can assure you.”

“Lovely,” the man dead-pans.

In the van, the girl giggles. “Dad doesn’t like people much,” she mock-whispers.

“Ciri,” the man sighs, a warning in his tone.

“You’ll get used to it,” Jaskier waves a hand in the air as he speaks and then, because _he_ certainly doesn’t share the sentiment of not liking people, he adds: “And where are my manners! I haven’t introduced myself yet. I’m Jaskier. And you are?”

The man raises an eyebrow. “Busy.”

“Dad,” the girl chides.

“You speak to the ladies like that too?” Jaskier teases, too quick to stop himself from running his mouth.

“They’re not as pushy,” the man crosses his arms in front of his chest, although there is a _hint_ of a smile tugging at his lips.

“First, that’s not true and you know it.” Jaskier points a finger at the other because he knows women and with someone as handsome as Geralt, _pushy_ must be the rule not the exception. “Second, rude. Again.”

“You seem to like it.”

Jaskier’s eyes widen and he sputters, because he does _not!_

In the van, Ciri chortles and the man has the gal to look smug at Jaskier’s reaction.

Then, without another word the man climbs into the back of the van and lifts a quite heavy-looking box with _ease_.

Jaskier _doesn’t_ stare and he certainly doesn’t pout when the man hops out of the van and walks back towards the front-door of the workshop.

“The name’s Geralt,” he calls, right before disappearing inside.

_Geralt_

So the new glassblower is a ridiculously hot, strong and exasperated single-dad from the looks of it.

A downright shame then, really, that Jaskier doesn’t go for those anymore.

\---

Jaskier is cleaning the bathroom in one of the suites when his phone rings.

He’s so happy to have any distraction from his least-favorite thing of owning a B&B that he doesn’t so much as wipes his hands when he presses the button to pick up on speaker and “ah, fuck. Now I have to disinfect my phone.”

His complaint is met with Triss’ laughter that echoes through the bathroom. “Hello to you too.”

“I’m cleaning a bathroom,” he offers in explanation.

“Ew,” Triss says, and then adds teasingly: “but picking up the phone like that might be bad for your TripAdvisor rating.”

“Ha. Ha. Funny.”

“Hilarious,” Triss says. “You coming tonight or are you busy?”

“Triss, it’s the first party in _months_!” Jaskier exclaims, “of course I’ll be there.”

He’d received the invite to attend the official opening of Rivia Glassblowing on his B&B email last weekend and he’s been looking forward to it ever since. He hadn’t expected it, if he’s honest, but Sabrina had hinted that it might actually be Ciri who is behind it rather than Geralt himself.

It would certainly make sense, although Jaskier’s only met Geralt once he didn’t quite strike him as the kind of man that would hold anything as social as an opening night.

His suspicion is proven right when he arrives at Rivia Glassblowing and he’s greeted by an excited Ciri and a rather miffed Geralt, grudgingly greeting him as he walks in.

It’s the first time Jaskier has had the chance to see inside the studio. He realizes that actually, it’s not really a workshop, but rather a small store that he’s walked into which, in hindsight, makes sense. It looks less stuffy and old-fashioned than he’d expected of a glassblowing store, with black steel-framed display cabinets for the colorful glassware and a bulky driftwood desk at the back of the room.

“Not what you were expecting?” Geralt asks, his voice deadpan but when Jaskier looks up at the man he catches a flicker of amusement in his eyes.

It makes him realize, belatedly, that he’d been staring just standing in the doorway and well, he’s always been a bit awkward hasn’t he? “Not sure I had expectations to be fair,” he admits.

“No-one ever does,” Ciri laughs and waves her hand around. “The shop is small, but we sell most of our stuff online. And we do commissions!”

Jaskier grins. “Do you do workshops, too?”

“I’m planning on it,” Ciri nods, looking quite proud of herself and pointedly ignoring the glare her father is now shooting her.

“Let me know when you do!" Jaskier says, and thinks that he'd certainly be happy to learn the finer art of blowing glass.

Ciri grins and that's when some other guests arrive, so Jaskier is off with a small wave. He gets himself a craft-beer from the little bar set up on the driftwood desk and joins Triss, Sabrina and some others.

Triss smirks when she sees him.

“What?” Jaskier asks.

Triss’ eyes glide over to Geralt and, when she’s certain Jaskier’s gaze has done the same, says: “Handsome, isn’t he?”

“Oh no,” Jaskier snaps his eyes back to Triss and shakes his head. “I’m _not_ going there.”

“Sure Jask,” Triss says and smirks around her glass as she takes a sip, “whatever you say.”

Jaskier rolls his eyes and doesn’t take the bait because, truly, he _isn’t_ going there.

Thankfully, they’re soon emerged in the latest gossip Sabrina is smugly sharing.

But as the evening goes on, a discomfort settles in Jaskier’s gut. He’s used to parties, sure. But his definition of party is mostly accompanied with loud music and lots of alcohol. Compared to that, attending the opening night of a glassblowing studio drinking craft beer and sharing gossip is so civilized and almost posh—it would be in Oxenfurt, at least—that he feels a tad out of place. These kinds of events were more Valdo’s thing, and he certainly never asked Jaskier to come along—although _now_ he knows why, now the lack of invitations to be seen together in public makes sense.

Even now, four years later, the thought of Valdo and his betrayal made Jaskier almost nauseous.

God, that’s pathetic.

But he excuses himself all the same, and rushes outside into the crisp evening to get some much needed air.

The moment the door closes behind him, drowning out the talking and laughter inside, he lets out a heavy sigh. Tonight was not the night he’d wanted to be reminded of Valdo fucking Marx again after at least three months of not having thought of the man, he wanted to have a good time and just enjoy himself.

“Fucking bastard,” he mumbles to himself and angrily drowns his beer.

That’s when he notices that apparently, he’s not the only one that had the idea to go out to get some air.

He turns his head towards the figure half hidden in shadow on his left.

It’s Geralt and oh, he thinks, isn’t that just a little ironic.

“Hiding away at your own opening night?” he quips at the man who is obviously _hiding_.

Geralt, to his credit, does look slightly embarrassed. But the only explanation he offers Jaskier is a “hmm,” that truly doesn’t explain shit.

Before Jaskier can complain, however, the door is yanked open by Ciri.

“Dad?” she asks.

There’s a hint of almost-panic in Geralt’s eyes and Jaskier makes a split-second decision, whirling around and giving Ciri a smile. “Nope, just me.”

She easily takes his word for it and doesn’t stick her head out of the door any further. Just tells him to “tell me when you see him,” and then she’s back inside and Jaskier is left in the quiet street, with Geralt.

“Thanks,” Geralt mumbles.

“Sure,” Jaskier says and waves his hand in the air almost dismissively, turning to Geralt with a somewhat wry smile, “everyone needs to get away sometimes. I get that.”

Geralt’s smile is small and tentative, but Jaskier sees it all the same.

It’s a nice smile.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, if anyone knows anything about glassblowing and I've made a complete mess out of this chapter, let me know...

**_RiviaGlassblowing:_ ** _wanna make good on your promise @PankratzB &B_

Jaskier grins when he opens Instagram and sees the message his B&B account is tagged in. Seems like workshops will soon start at Rivia Glassblowing and Ciri—at least, he assumes she’s the one managing the studio's social media—has started advertising.

Well, Jaskier certainly isn’t going to pass up an opportunity to learn the finer skills of glassblowing—and an afternoon filled with nothing but innuendo and horrible jokes.

**_PankratzB &B:_ ** _@RiviaGlassblowing oh yes, wouldn’t miss out on this!_

**_RiviaGlassblowing:_ ** _see you with us in 2 weeks then @PanktratzB &B_

Jaskier chuckles and opens his calendar app to add the workshop and block some time. He’ll have to let Ciri know that if something comes up with the B&B, or if there are guests that need him, he’ll have to cancel.

The B&B certainly keeps him busy, which is a good thing for he needs to pay the bills and keep the house in good shape which is expensive enough. But it does mean that he doesn’t have much of a life outside of keeping the business running and his bi-weekly trips into town to fuel his social life. So he will take any opportunity he can get, really, to fuel his normally non-existent social-life.

Only a few minutes after the whole exchange, Essi calls.

Jaskier picks up with a grin. “Hello my dear.”

“Glassblowing, Jask?”

“Well, don’t you think I’d be awfully good at it?” he asks teasingly.

“Of course,” Essi laughs and then says: “and I’ll be there to see it for myself!”

“What?”

Essi sighs dramatically. “I just thought, it’s about time I come visit again and if we can do that workshop together, even better!”

“You want to learn glassblowing?” Jaskier asks with a frown.

“Do _you_?” Essi shoots back.

“The business is new in town and I promised,” Jaskier explains with a shrug. “Besides…”

“You get to make dirty jokes,” Essi finishes for him with a laugh. “Which is _exactly_ why I want to be there.”

\---

Essi arrives in Lettenhove in her light-blue woolen coat, black wellies and white, knitted beanie and when he picks her up at the bus stop, Jaskier raises an eyebrow at the apparel.

“What?” she demands with a grin, doing a little twirl. “It’s cute, right? I call it village-chic.”

“You look lovely,” Jaskier says as he presses a kiss against her cheek before puling her into a hug. “You’ll be the best dressed woman in the entire county.”

Essi laughs. “You never know when I’m gonna meet a handsome guy I want to impress!”

“Here?” Jaskier leans back from the hug and shakes his head with an amused smile. “You know you won’t, Essi dear.”

“Well maybe _I_ am into pig-farmers.” Essi gives him a pointed look.

Jaskier barks a laugh. “Even if, there’s no-one worth dressing up for here,” he says.

\---

“No-one worth dressing up for… Liar,” Essi murmurs and shoves her elbow against Jaskier’s ribs, her eyes not once leaving Geralt of Rivia as he stands in front of the small group of workshop participants. Or well, participants is perhaps too big a word. There’s six of them and, aside from Essi, everyone’s from Lettenhove and from what Jaskier gathered been invited to join this trial-run for the workshops Geralt plans to run.

“I didn’t lie,” Jaskier hisses at her.

“Then who is that?” Essi asks and waves her hand into Geralt’s direction.

Jaskier shakes his head. “We’re not having this conversation now.”

“Oh,” Essi raises an eyebrow at him, her grin sharp and dangerous as she says: “so there is a conversation to be had?”

“Jaskier.”

Jaskier snaps his eyes to where Geralt is standing, looking at him expectantly along with the other four participants—and Julia and her husband Mark really do look a tad too amused and ah, shit, he really hopes they didn’t _hear_ anything. “Ah, yes?”

Geralt raises an eyebrow at him and Jaskier wonders for a moment if the other is just doing this so he can punish him for not paying attention. “Now that we all know the proper safety measures to take, I was thinking that perhaps you’d like to go first?”

“Yes, of course!” Jaskier tries hard to bring back what Geralt had been talking about just a minute ago. Wear your safety goggles and protective gloves, take off your jewelry before you start and don’t get too close to the furnaces. Right, should be fine then he thinks and shoots Geralt a grin. “I certainly love blowing, so let’s give this a proper try.”

Next to him, Essi snorts and Julia lets out one of those surprised giggles.

“The blowing will have to wait,” Geralt says and Jaskier wonders how the man manages to keep a straight face. He then turns a bit so he is addressing all six participants and explains: “In glassblowing, the first basic you learn is how to get the glass from the furnace on to the end of your pipe, or punty. We call this gathering.”

As Geralt is explaining, Jaskier can’t help but think that it’s a miracle this is the same man that he found hiding outside of his shop on opening night. He’s eloquent, passionate almost as his eyes sparkle with his obvious love for the craft.

It’s a beautiful thing to see, seeing someone talk about something they obviously love.

It doesn’t stop Jaskier, however, from slipping in inappropriate comments throughout the workshop.

Not all of them are great, he will admit, but he’s improvising here so he can hardly deliver his best work.

But he’s got Julia and Mark snorting in amusement when he asks Geralt if “a glassblower has got to be good with both hands and mouth?”

When Geralt’s explaining about the temperature of molten glass, Jaskier takes his chance to remark that he’s a lot like the glass.

Extremely hot.

The joke in itself doesn’t garner much laughter, but when Geralt presses his lips together and remarks he is extremely annoying, Essi guffaws.

There is, however, one time when Jaskier isn’t the one to crack a joke.

It’s when they’ve gathered the glass, gotten to know the bench and the tools and are adding colors that Geralt says: “When we need to reheat our glass as we’re working with it, we use a different furnace. It’s this one over here,” he waves into the direction of the furnace standing next to the one containing the molten glass, “it’s called the glory hole.”

Jaskier almost chokes on his own spit as he tries so very hard not to burst out laughing. “Glory hole?”

“Wouldn’t stick my dick in it if I were you,” Geralt says with a smirk.

And hot damn, that smirk. It’s fun and teasing all in one and Jaskier thinks that he’d much rather stick his dick somewhere else. But he just clicks his mouth shut and keeps that bit of knowledge to himself, because he’s got to stop thinking with his fucking dick and start using his brain instead.

He didn’t do that last time and look where that got him.

His heart shattered like a piece of glass.

\---

“You didn’t tell me you had a crush,” Essi pouts at him from the other side of the kitchen table, glass of red wine in her hand. “Is this what our friendship has become?”

Jaskier makes a face and takes a big sip of his own glass of wine. “I don’t have a crush, Essi.”

Essi wags a finger at him. “Ah, but I attended that workshop _with_ you my dear. I have eyes and Geralt the glassblower is a _formidable_ specimen.”

“So he’s a breathing piece of fucking art,” Jaskier sighs and crosses his arms in front of his chest. He’ll admit to that, at least, because it’s the damned truth. “That still doesn’t mean I have a crush.”

“Jask.”

“I don’t.” Jaskier shakes his head.

Yes, Geralt is handsome with a wry sense of humor that Jaskier can appreciate but that doesn’t mean he has a crush. He’s not fucking sixteen.

Essi rolls her eyes. “But you do,” she points out. “I’ve known you for over a decade, don’t play dumb.”

“He’s divorced. He has a kid,” he says, hoping it’ll explain to Essi that it’s not a crush.

He won’t _let_ it be one.

“Doesn’t have to mean anything,” Essi says in reply, her voice soft and her eyes understanding.

“It’s a risk I’m not going to take,” Jaskier shakes his head, downs his glass of wine and grabs the bottle to re-fill. “I learned my lesson.”


	5. Chapter 5

“Enjoy your stay!” Jaskier calls after the middle-aged couple going up the stairs to their rented room. “Do let me know if there’s anything you need.”

They’re a lovely couple, celebrating their anniversary here, although Jaskier had pointed out if they’d wanted true romance they should’ve come in a few weeks when Lettenhove hosts their annual Christmas market. But they’d assured him they were looking for peace and quiet which he promised they'd certainly find here.

Even if early December is hardly the best time of the year to visit Lettenhove, but who is he to judge?

He's just finished logging all the guest details when he happens to glance outside. The brightness of afternoon is fading which isn't a surprise. It's early December after all and it’s dark so early nowadays. But that does mean that if he wants parsnips for dinner, he really ought to go outside and fetch them from the vegetable patch at the back of the garden before it's actually dark.

So he puts his little sign up at the reception desk with his phone number should any of the guests need him and heads down to the kitchen. He slips his feet into his brown, leather work boots, shrugs on his red parka and on the way out picks up the metal bucket and garden clippers standing next to the door.

He's all but finished harvesting his parsnips and some kale when he hears something. He looks up to find a bike coming at him on the dirt-path that leads into the forest behind the house.

"Hello!" he calls and now that the bike is closer he recognizes Ciri underneath the cobalt-blue beanie.

Ciri, who looks slightly panicked at seeing him and whose bike skids to a halt just at the side of the vegetable patch. "Hi," she says and looks at him, her eyes big and faux-innocent. "I think I might've gotten lost!"

"Did you now," he muses with an amused smile.

"I wasn't trespassing," Ciri shoots back.

Jaskier doesn't point out that actually, she _is_. Instead, he waves a dismissive hand in the air. "I don't care about that. People can hike and wander around all the want as long as they respect the grounds and nature." Then, he grins. "Did Dara show you the paths he takes with his mountain bike?"

"Yea," Ciri grins in return. "I found some other spots where you can do some cool jumps as well."

"Cool. And the tree house?"

Ciri's eyes widen in excitement and she leans closer to him over her bike's handlebars as she asks: "a tree house?"

"Hmm," Jaskier nods and spends the next few minutes explaining the best paths to take to get to the tree house.

"You grew up here," Ciri says when he's finished, a statement rather than a question.

Jaskier nods. "For eighteen long years. My dad wasn't as laid back as yours, unfortunately."

Ciri huffs, shaking her head. "Dad can be overbearing."

"I'm sure he means well," Jaskier says because he might not know Geralt all that well, but he knew his own father and he's certain Geralt is so, _so_ far away from that. But, before Ciri can protest—because she is a teenager and he _knows_ he means well isn't what she wants to hear—he adds: "but if it ever becomes too much and you need to get away, just go up the tree house. It's not much, but it's a dry place to hide out and I think Dara might have some snacks hidden somewhere, too."

Ciri grins and if Jaskier sees a mountain bike disappear between the trees a day later, he just smiles into his cup of coffee.

\---

_Finally_ after what feels like months of not having touched a single document, Jaskier has found some time to write.

He didn't quite realize how much he missed it until he took out his laptop and notes this afternoon and sat down at his kitchen table to familiarize himself with his work again. Writing has always been his passion, it's why he went to Oxenfurt to study literature. Everyone knows many great writers studied at Oxenfurt University and he'd been dead-set on becoming one of them. Who cared that he had to work in a grocery store to pay his bills when he was making a name for himself in the right circles by publishing short stories and entering competitions? He certainly hadn't.

It's only now that he realizes that while it was a life that allowed him to dream about his upcoming literary break-through, it wasn't exactly a rewarding life.

Not in the way that running the B&B is.

But while he perhaps doesn’t miss the life as much as he’d expected to, he does miss writing. Does miss the creativity of it, the outlet and he still dreams of having his fantasy trilogy published one day—when he’s written it, of course.

He’s almost lost in his own fantasy world when the shrill ring of the reception bell fills the air.

He gets up with a frown and makes his way over from the kitchen at the back of the mansion to the front hall, where he’s set up the reception. All his expected guests have already checked in and are out and about, so he wonders who it could be.

He doesn’t usually get walk-ins.

And what he finds at the reception desk is certainly not a guest looking for a bed for the night.

For standing in his hallway, wet from the rain that’s been plummeting from the sky all afternoon and looking properly haggard, is Geralt.

“Geralt!” he calls with a curious smile and a small wave, “to what do I owe this surprise visit to my humble abode?”

“Ciri,” Geralt starts and frowns to himself as if he’s considering what to say. “She’s been gone all afternoon and I can’t… she hangs out with this guy –”

“Dara?”

“Yea, him. His mom, she said there was a tree house near the B&B.”

Jaskier sighs. Geralt looks proper stressed and is obviously worried. But the tree house has always been a refuge to him when he was younger and he’d like it to be for Ciri as well. So he’s loathe to give away the location of the tree house, but seeing the other so worried he _does_ want to help.

“Her phone?”

“I’ve tried,” Geralt scowls. “Is there a tree house, or not?”

Jaskier crosses his arms in front of his chest. “There is.”

“And you’re not telling me where it is because?” Geralt asks accusingly.

Jaskier sighs. Perhaps it’s best to be honest here. Geralt was young once, he might understand. “I used it as a hide-out when I was a teen. I’d like it to stay that way.”

“Hmm,” Geralt hums, “fine. But she is there?”

Jaskier thinks back to the past few weeks and how often he’s seen Ciri on her mountain bike. “Yea, probably.”

“Good,” Geralt nods, relief clear in his eyes. “Do you… can you let me know when she leaves?”

Geralt looks so hopeful when he asks the question and Jaskier really shouldn’t, but before he can stop himself he hears himself say: “You know what, I know where we can catch her when she leaves if you want. Let me grab my raincoat.”

\---

They’re standing underneath the trees near the vegetable patch to shelter them from the rain while they wait for Ciri.

“You take care of it?” Geralt asks, eyes on the vegetable patch.

Jaskier is pleasantly surprised that the other breaks the companionable silence they’ve fallen into—after Jaskier has chattered on and on for what feels like ages. “I do!” he says proudly. “Planted it all myself, too.”

“Hmm.”

“Surprised?” Jaskier asks teasingly.

Geralt turns to him with a glint of amusement in his eyes. “You seem like the kind of guy that’d kill a cactus.”

“I beg your pardon!” Jaskier cries. “I’ll have you know I’m very capable of being a responsible adult. Kill a cactus! I’m _great_ at caring for things and– and,” he falters in his indignation when he turns to Geralt and sees the smirk on the other’s lips. Jaskier blinks and crosses his arms in front of his chest with a pout. “Are you pulling my leg?”

“You run a B&B, quite successfully from what I’ve heard. I’m sure you have a serious side,” Geralt says, sounding both serious and teasing at the same time.

“I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

For a second, Geralt’s expression softens as he says: “You should.”

Jaskier swears that the shiver that goes through him at the words is due to the cold.

Truly.

It’s December, after all, and the rain that’s falling is thick in the way it only is when it’s not quite cold enough for it to be wet snow but _it’s getting there_ and –

The sound of a bike rattling over the unsteady path through the forest interrupts Jaskier’s quickly spiraling thoughts.

Ah, he thinks, right on time.

\---

Geralt and Ciri are sitting at the large, oak kitchen table because _of course_ Jaskier invited them to stay for dinner.

They were all cold and wet, after all and he has food to spare because the guests that had asked him to prepare dinner for them tonight had to cancel because they missed the ferry back from Skellige. So his mouth had ran off before his mind could tell it to stop and now Geralt’s happily drinking a cup of strong, black coffee while Ciri is taking in the room, looking quite impressed.

The kitchen is actually the most modern room in the house, with its updated cabinets and appliances. Despite that, it’s an impressive room with the old wooden doors and a beautiful fireplace in one of the corners.

But still, “it looks grander than it actually is."

Ciri turns to him with a raised eyebrow and says “it’s a country estate,” as if that disputes Jaskier’s statement.

"It's a time and money pit, is what it is,” Jaskier huffs and shakes is head. “You have a mansion, you look rich but in reality you haven't been on vacation in three years because the plumbing needed work or the windows needed re-trimming."

A thought seems to come to Ciri’s mind as she leans her head to the side a bit. “You take care of it all by yourself?”

Jaskier blinks at the question. “I am,” he answers and wonders why she’s asking. He quickly decides, though, that if she’s looking to make some quick money he’ll happily ask her to scrub some bathrooms for him.

Ciri smirks. “So you’re dating?”

Jaskier’s eyebrows shoot up just like his heartbeat because “what?”

“Ciri!” Geralt admonishes, voice low.

“I’m just asking! You can’t be single and lonely forever,” Ciri says with a shrug.

Right, Jaskier thinks to himself. Right, of course Ciri is asking because Geralt is single and she apparently believes her father might go out and date.

He pushes any internal questions about the possibility of Geralt being bi somewhere in the back of his mind because Ciri is looking at him again and is expecting an answer.

So he goes: “Dating? Here?” and shakes his head with a laugh. “It’s slim pickings, dear, and I doubt I’d be able to convince anyone to move to Lettenhove from Oxenfurt.”

He makes it sound like a joke, and he doesn’t expect Ciri to smile wryly in reply as she mutters into her cup of tea: “I didn’t. I’d much rather have stayed in Cintra with mom.”

The mood drops in an instant.

All thoughts Jaskier has about single Geralt are shattered the moment Ciri utters the word _mom_. But he can’t find it within himself to be sad at this reality-check. Not when Ciri looks a combination of sad and annoyed while Geralt looks absolutely forlorn.

This is not a new discussion, he realizes, and it certainly isn’t one that any of them want to happen at his kitchen table. So, in an attempt to distract the situation away from the disaster that’s bubbling in the air, he mumbles: “Cintra is nice.”

“Have you been?” Geralt asks, jumping on the chance to change the topic.

“Lived there for six months for a university exchange.”

Now, Ciri raises her eyes to him as well. “What did you study?”

“Literature,” Jaskier says and then laughs at the face Ciri makes. “Quite pretentious, I know. But that’s what you get when you want to be a professional novelist.”

“You write?” Ciri asks. “What about?”

And, well, Jaskier might not write as much as he would like but he can _talk_ about it any time!

\---

“Sorry about that.” Geralt’s voice is soft as he apologizes a bit later, after dinner when Ciri has gone off in search for the bathroom.

Jaskier doesn’t need to ask what he’s apologizing for.

“Hey, no worries. Family can be… difficult,” he offers with a half-smile.

“It’s not that she didn’t want to come at _all_. It’s just hard, starting somewhere new,” Geralt says, expression troubled and Jaskier realizes that Geralt isn’t truly explaining the situation to him but is, rather, venting.

And, well, having been on his own for as long as he has Jaskier certainly understands the need for _that_.

“Why _did_ you move?”

Geralt sighs. “Couldn’t afford the rent in Cintra anymore. Your mansion might be a money pit, but glassblowing isn’t a lavish job either.”

It’s an understandable reason, truly, but: “and you chose Lettenhove because?”

Geralt looks at him with a raised eyebrow, as if Jaskier somehow should _know_ the reason why Ciri and him moved to Lettenhove. “My father lives here.”

Jaskier blinks. “Your… father.”

A small smirk falls over Geralt’s lips as he realizes that Jaskier doesn’t actually know who his father is. “He says you’re the worst, by the way. Can’t even manage to put your receipts in a binder.”

Jaskier’s eyes widen and he all but chokes on the wine he’s drinking.

“Vesemir!?”


	6. Chapter 6

When Jaskier walks into Merigold’s Café the first thing that catches his eye is a woman that must’ve ended up in Lettenhove by mistake.

Long, wavy black hair that’s pulled into a high pony-tail, and the lilac scarf draped around her neck are as much a fashion statement as the leather jacket she’s wearing. It’s a very polished look to go with what looks to be a beautiful woman that doesn’t take shit from anyone.

So of course she’s sitting at a corner-table with Geralt and Ciri.

“Who’s that?” he asks Triss.

Unnecessarily so, for he already has a pretty good gut-feeling about who this woman could be.

“Well, she didn’t introduce herself,” Triss says with a shrug and then leans a bit closer to him over the counter. “But Ciri did call her mom.”

“Of course she did,” Jaskier mutters.

He looks over to the table again. Ciri’s chatting animatedly to her mother who is listening with fond look and even Geralt looks relaxed, almost soft—a good look on him.

He wonders why she’s here.

Maybe the will rekindle. Distance does make the heart grow fonder, after all.

“She’s gorgeous, isn’t she?” Triss asks with what can only be called a dreamy sigh.

“Yea,” Jaskier mumbles, his heart sinking and he can only blame himself for getting his fucking hopes up. “She is.”

\---

“It’s unfair,” he moans to Essi on the phone later that evening, when he’s certain all guests have gone to sleep and he’s three shots into a bottle of vodka.

“I thought you said it’s not a crush.”

“It’s…” Jaskier starts and sighs in frustration. “I tried.

“Jask,” Essi sighs, “not everyone is like Valdo. Besides, Geralt isn’t off every weekend to Cintra, right? And didn’t you mention his daughter is keen to get him dating?”

They’re valid points, but Jaskier still frowns. “The ex, she’s here for a visit. Maybe they’ll make up, get back together.”

“Or maybe she just wanted to see her daughter,” Essi points out. “Almost everyone has an ex, Jaskier.”

“I know,” Jaskier mumbles with a heavy heart.

It’s a stupid worry, he knows it is. Unreasonable and, for all he knows, unfounded.

But he just can’t shake it off.

He eyes the vodka.

“Besides, Valdo’s ex wasn’t really his ex, now was she?” Essi asks, her voice sharp and angry but Jaskier knows she’s not angry with him. “It was a big fat lie.”

Jaskier grimaces, and this time he _does_ take another shot.

They don’t actually talk about it very often anymore. They used to, when Jaskier was heartbroken and alone and shunned by people he’d thought were his friends and peers.

But Valdo had played them all with Jaskier the victim.

They’d met in a bar, hooked up and started dating. It had all moved rather fast, but Jaskier hadn’t minded. He’d quickly fallen for Valdo and had his breathing space on the weekends, when Valdo would head to Cidaris to see his daughter from his previous marriage.

But Valdo’s ex-wife wasn’t actually his ex at all and when Ava Marx had walked into Valdo’s living-room one Wednesday evening on a surprise visit to Oxenfurt, Jaskier’s life had fallen apart.

Valdo’s “it’s not what you think,” directed at Ava echoed through his head for months after. And if that wasn’t betrayal enough, the cheating bastard spread a nasty rumor that he’d only been sleeping with Jaskier because he’d been manipulated into it because Jaskier had threatened to sell one of Valdo’s manuscripts as his own.

Only a few of Jaskier’s closest friends had believed him, but in the end it was only a small consolation.

They’re tight circles in the creative community and once a rumor starts, it’s almost impossible to get rid of.

It had taken one evening to break Jaskier’s heart and a month to destroy his reputation.

It hadn’t been pretty, but he’s over it now.

Or rather, he’s over Valdo.

Some trust-issues, he realizes now, still remain.

“I don’t know what to do,” he whispers to Essi.

“I would hug you if I could,” Essi says. “But maybe, if you want to be sure…why not ask the ex-wife if she’s still around?”

“What, just go up to the woman and ask if Geralt and her are really divorced?” Jaskier asks with a snort.

“No!” Essi huffs. “Aren’t you a smooth talker? Just go introduce yourself and, I don’t know, mention how much it sucks her daughter is now so far away. Improvise!”

Improvise, Jaskier thinks.

He can do that.

\---

It’s the second Sunday before Christmas, which means Lettenhove kicks off the most wonderful time of the year with its annual Christmas market.

The main street’s been closed for traffic and lined with market stalls, all of which are decked out with garland, tinsel and what feels like hundreds of string lights that twinkle in the darkness.

Jaskier arrives wrapped in a thick, burgundy scarf and buzzing with excitement. He passes by the big, decorated pine tree at the beginning of the market and is greeted by Christmas music and a jolly, cheerful crowd.

He goes from stall to stall, chatting with people and browsing the wares and by the time he reaches Triss’s stall he’s already bought more things than he’d planned to.

When he complains to Triss, though, she just laughs. “Just like every year!”

“I just can’t resist! It’s all so shiny and festive and Christmassy,” he sighs and has another look around the market. It’s not the holiday itself that he loves. He didn’t grow up in a family that had cozy Christmases, after all. But he _does_ love the decorations, the lights, the knick-knacks and, very importantly, mulled wine.

Mulled wine, which Triss is so kindly handing him in a Christmas patterned mug that Jaskier happily wraps his hands around as he inhales the smell. “Best mulled wine in the county,” he tells her with a grin.

Triss waves his compliment off, but she still grins proudly. “So,” she says, drawing out the word and leaning in a bit closer to Jaskier, “Have you been to Geralt’s stand?”

Jaskier frowns, immediately suspicious. "Why?"

"He’s got some very pretty ornaments you might be interested in.”

Jaskier hums. “I do love myself pretty ornaments.”

"Plus," Triss adds with a smirk, "he came by a bit earlier. Asked if I knew you were coming.”

Jaskier blinks stupidly at the tidbit of information Triss just shared with him.

Geralt had asked if he was coming?

“He… really?” 

No amount of telling himself he shouldn't be excited about that, that he needs to put his reservations to rest first, stops the skipped beat of his heart and the jump in his stomach.

Triss hums in reply, looking properly pleased with the whole situation. “So you best go. Don't want to disappoint our newest resident, would you? Besides," she winks, "we both know you wouldn't mind seeing him _at all_. I've heard about the workshop."

"Have you now," Jaskier murmurs before raising his mulled wine and taking a big sip.

Triss wags a finger at him. "Shame on you for not telling me."

"Yes, yes," Jaskier rolls his eyes although a small smile still tugs at his lips, "shame on me, shame on my family, shame on my cow."

"It's dishonor."

Jaskier raises an eyebrow at Triss. "I'm leaving now."

“Ah, wait just a sec," Triss says and beckons for him to lean in closer before looping one of her curls around a finger in what Jaskier knows is a nervous gesture. "If Yennefer is still here… tell her she can get a mulled wine. On the house.”

Jaskier doesn't need to ask who Yennefer is.

Just thinks that it's a gorgeous name for an unfairly beautiful woman.

At least now, it seems like he won’t be the only one relieved if ex-wife in this case really just means ex-wife.

\---

"Hi Jaskier!" Ciri greets him with a wide grin, pushing up the Santa hat that's slipping down her head. 

She's manning—womanning? Is that a word?—with her mother, with Geralt nowhere to be seen.

Jaskier will admit he's slightly disappointed not to see Geralt, but it _will_ make talking to Yennefer easier.

If he can get the right words out of his mouth.

"This is my mom, Yennefer." Ciri turns to her mom and tells her: "This is Jaskier."

"Ah, the B&B owner?" Yennefer asks and, without waiting for an answer, extends her hand with a smirk, "I've heard lots about you."

"Good things only I hope," he says, shaking Yennefer's hand and winking at Ciri.

Yennefer, meanwhile, looks vaguely amused. "Heard you're rather interested in the finer art of glassblowing."

"Who wouldn't!" Jaskier says before he can stop himself.

Yennefer smirks as she says: "Well, Geralt _is_ the expert."

Jaskier’s not sure if it’s bait, but he decides not to take it regardless. Instead, he thinks he best start asking some questions and initiating proper conversation if he is to get himself out of his miserable worrying. "You're over for the Christmas market?"

Yennefer pulls up her nose slightly. "While charming, I'm here to see Ciri. Had to see for myself where Geralt's dragged our daughter off to."

Ciri smiles at her mom. "It's not so bad."

"Small-town life isn't for me," Yennefer shakes her head. "You know that."

"The people are nice!" Ciri argues.

Jaskier bites his lip. It's not his place to interrupt and while Ciri's not _wrong_ about the people being nice, he doubts it's going to win Yennefer over. She's exactly the kind of woman to thrive in Cintra with her fashion sense and what he assumes is quick wit and a sharp tongue.

"They're noisy."

Ciri smirks at her mom. "That's not what you said at the cafe."

Yennefer purses her lips and crosses her arms in front of her chest with a defensive huff. "She is an exception."

"You mean Triss?" Jaskier asks and, if he's honest, is starting to feel like this whole conversation is some sort of out-of-body experience. Well, in for a penny... "She's lovely. Said she'd give you a mulled wine on the house if you drop by."

Ciri gasps and urges her mom with absolute glee: "Go see her, mom!"

"She does make a spectacular mulled wine," Jaskier quips, because apparently setting up his best friend with his crush's ex-wife is something he does now.

"You do like _any_ kind of wine," Ciri chimes in.

"You know what,” Yennefer says thoughtfully, “I might just do that."

"Yes!" Ciri waves a hand in the air, "go! Jaskier will help me with the stand 'till dad gets back."

That's how Jaskier ends up behind the market stall with Ciri, who hands him a Santa hat as "we're going for a look here."

When Yennefer is out of sight, Ciri says: "Mom said Triss is adorable."

Jaskier chuckles. "Triss _is_ adorable."

Ciri sighs wistfully. "I hope they start dating!"

"Who starts dating?"

Geralt's voice, that rich and low voice that sends a shiver down Jaskier's spine, startles Jaskier. He turns to find the man walking up to them with a cardboard box in his hands and what seems to be the Rivia signature Santa hat hanging rather lopsided on his head.

It looks both adorable and sexy in a way that is completely unfair.

"Mom and Triss," Ciri says with a grin. 

A small, soft smile appears on Geralt's face as he sets down the box. "She deserves it."

Jaskier blinks. Those are not the words he was expecting. In fact, _nothing_ about this entire situation and Yennefer in general was what he was expecting. She and Geralt are civil towards each other, friendly even and Jaskier has to admit he can't remember a single ex with whom he's still friendly.

His expression must show his surprise, because Geralt asks, rather defensively: "What?"

"Nothing, nothing!" Jaskier shakes his head, but Geralt's raised eyebrow makes it quite clear he's not believed. "It's just that... you seem to be on good terms."

Geralt shrugs. "We split on good terms."

"That's it?" Jaskier asks, voice almost small and hopeful.

Something akin to understanding flashes in Geralt's eyes, and Jaskier wonders for a moment if he’s _that_ obvious. "That's it," Geralt says easily, voice soft and heartfelt and for a moment it feels as if the whole Christmas market around them has disappeared.

Because Jaskier's heart flutters at the words and his mind is racing a mile a minute. Ciri wanting both her parents to date, Geralt _saying_ he's divorced and right in front of Ciri, this can't all be an elaborate scheme to make a fool out of him. 

Can he really get his hopes up?

"Didn't you have something for Jaskier?" Ciri asks, interrupting Jaskier's train of thoughts.

He blinks, wondering if he'd heard right.

Geralt has something for him?

Not just something, Jaskier realizes when Geralt gently takes a honest to God hand blown Christmas ornament out of the cardboard box he had been carrying.

"Oh wow," he breathes when Geralt hands it to him, "this is gorgeous!"

He holds up the ornament and takes a moment to admire the craftmanship. It's a faceted sphere with a white base and traditional red and green specks of colors swirling around it in an intricate pattern. At the top, the glass is curved into a little loop through which a red ribbon is pulled so the ornament can be hung.

It is absolutely gorgeous, and Geralt made it for _him_.

Jaskier feels that he's about ready to combust.

"I made it as a..." Geralt starts, hesitates for a moment and then rubs the side of his head looking slightly embarrassed as he says: "as a thank you. For the other night."

"Of course!" Jaskier blurts, because of course Geralt's made it to thank him for the impromptu dinner a few days ago.

That doesn't mean he won't treasure it any less.

"My pleasure," he says and then adds with a charming grin and a wink: "you're welcome to come over for dinner any time."

For a moment, Geralt looks at him with those penetrating amber eyes of his and then he hums before turning to put the box away underneath the stall.

Well, Jaskier is going to assume that that is a _I'll be sure to stop by soon_.


	7. Chapter 7

When Jaskier said Geralt was welcome for dinner anytime, he hadn't quite expected a phone call from the man a mere week later.

And, unfortunately, that phone-call is hardly as exciting as it sounds. Or rather, it _is_ exciting. Just the wrong kind.

“I need to ask you for a favor,” Geralt had started.

Jaskier _had_ been excited at that because he’s been asked for favors before and they have always been the good kind.

However, this wasn’t the “I need a date to my cousin’s wedding” or “my back’s been killing me all day, can you give me a back-rub” kind.

This was the “our flat flooded and we need somewhere to stay” favor.

That’s how Geralt’s black Mustang is coming up the drive to Pankratz B&B on a sunny Friday afternoon, him and Ciri in the front and some overnight bags stuffed in the back.

Jaskier walks down the three steps from the front door to greet them. “And I thought my car was a wreck,” he jokes, because he’s certain they can use a bit of light-hearted banter.

Geralt frowns as he gets out of the car. “Roach is perfect.”

“Roach… the car?” Jaskier asks, because if he’s honest Geralt didn’t peg him as the kind of person to name his car.

“He loves that car almost as much as he loves me,” Ciri teases her father.

“You sure you didn’t mean to say rust?” Jaskier asks, squinting at the brown spots on the car’s body.

“That how you talk to all your guests?” Geralt comments as he pulls a weekend bag from the back of the car.

“Ah,” Jaskier gives Geralt a coy smile, “but you’re not paying.”

Geralt turns to Jaskier at that statement, straightening his back with a small frown on his face. “About that—”

“Nope! Nothing about that,” Jaskier interrupts, shaking his head. “I told you, I’ve got rooms to spare and only three bookings ‘till New Years.”

Because at least in this case it works out that people just don’t stay in a small, sea-side town for Christmas where there is no snow and no proper restaurants for Christmas dinner. He’d have hated it if he’d had to turn Geralt and Ciri away.

“But—”

“Dad,” Ciri sighs as she closes the car door, the second weekend bag in her arms.

For a moment, Geralt looks a tad defeated. “At least let me cook you dinner,” he offers eventually.

“ _That_ I’ll let you do!” Jaskier says with a grin and he’s already looking forward to it. “Now come with me, I’ll show you which rooms you guys can take.”

\---

Geralt, it turns out, makes absolute perfect steaks which are accompanied by a parsnip mash and Brussel sprouts. It’s a hearty, cozy Winter meal that Jaskier finds fits Geralt to a T.

They eat in the kitchen, which is now fully decked out for Christmas. Tinsel, candles, a decorated pine tree and proudly displayed on the mantle of the fireplace is the glass ornament Geralt made—Geralt pretends he doesn’t look proud when he sees it and so Jaskier pretends his heart doesn’t flutter every time he looks at it.

Aside from some great food, dinner is actually a rather quiet affair and Ciri doesn’t linger long after they’ve finished eating. She goes up to her room to watch some Netflix on her laptop, leaving Geralt and Jaskier sitting at the table to finish their red wine.

“Thanks again,” Geralt says, sitting across from Jaskier at the big, oak dining table, “for letting us stay.”

Jaskier smiles. “No problem, you can stay here for as long as it takes Dijkstra to get someone to fix the issue.”

He’s not quite sure if he hopes the fix will be quick or not. Geralt and Ciri have only been here since this afternoon, after all, but something tells him he’ll be enjoying their stay a lot more than he possibly should.

“How are you liking Lettenhove so far?” Jaskier asks conversationally, sipping his wine. “Sans the pipe issue, of course.”

“It’s peaceful.”

Jaskier chuckles. “It is, very different from Cintra. Or Oxenfurt, for that matter. I hated it when I got back here a few years ago. Reminded me of why I’d left.”

“Doesn’t sound like you wanted to be back,” Geralt points out.

“I didn’t,” Jaskier sighs, “but my parents passed and left me the estate. Didn’t want it, really, but didn’t want to stay in Oxenfurt either. Nothing like betrayal to chase you away from the place you called home.” He makes a face and takes a big sip of his wine.

He looks up at Geralt after a moment and sees the question in the other’s eyes. The _what happened?_ Somehow, though, Jaskier knows Geralt won’t ask.

Normally he wouldn’t be inclined to share, to open his heart like this. No-one in Lettenhove knows what’s happened in Oxenfurt, knows about Valdo or the reason why Jaskier decided to not just sell the Pankratz estate.

They all think he’s living some kind of dream with his little B&B.

But here, in his warm kitchen with the fire in the hearth crackling and the soft light of what has to be at least a dozen candles flickering against the wall and Geralt’s compassionate eyes on the other side of the table he finds that he can’t stop the words from pouring out. “I was with someone. For two years. It was everything I thought I wanted in a relationship. Lots of fun, great sex and questionable commitment. He’d told me he was divorced, that he had a kid he visited every weekend back where his ex-wife lived. I was fine with that, got me some freedom to do my own stuff. Turns out he wasn’t divorced at all, and that I was the sidepiece. When his wife found out… he told her and everyone else I’d blackmailed him into the whole thing. Nothing quite like that to find out you only really have two friends.”

Silence hangs almost heavy in the air after Jaskier’s words and Jaskier choses to drink his foul mood in the remaining wine still in his glass.

He feels sad now, or perhaps not sad. Angry and bitter and—

“Fuck,” Geralt mumbles softly, heartfelt and almost unbelieving.

—and yes, Jaskier thinks, _that_ is exactly how he feels.

“Yea, not gonna lie it sucks,” he admits with a heavy sigh.

But there’s another side to it as well, isn’t there?

Like any story, it has two sides.

“But if it wasn’t for that bastard, I’d probably never have started the B&B. So I suppose it’s a blessing in disguise ‘cause I’m certainly happy to be here now,” he says and sitting at his kitchen table with Geralt, drinking wine as the Christmas decorations shine and glitter around them he decides now is the time to leave the past behind, exactly where it should be.

Geralt offers him a sympathetic smile and raises his of wine in a silent toast.

\---

Jaskier runs breakfast from half past seven ‘till ten.

Usually guests trickle in anywhere between those times, take their pickings from the small buffet he sets out in the breakfast room and listen to him chatter as he prepares eggs and bacon on request.

On Sunday, however, it’s almost always a slow start. People sleep in, and Jaskier gets some time to wake up slowly and properly with a cup of coffee and some breakfast of his own before the first guests come down.

That’s why he’s quite surprised when Geralt saunters into the breakfast room at seven thirty sharp looking more awake than Jaskier feels—and _he_ has been up and about since six thirty.

“Morning!” he greets and raises his half-full cup of coffee at Geralt. “You’re up early for a Sunday.”

Geralt shrugs. “Went for a run.”

“You… of course you did,” Jaskier mutters and thinks that some people must come from a different world to willingly be this active before eight. “So you’re probably hungry, right? The buffet is over there,” he says with a wave into the general direction of the foods he’s put out, “and I can make you some eggs. Scrambled, sunny-side-up, you name it.”

“I can make my own," Geralt shrugs.

“Make your own?” Jaskier splutters, “you’re a guest!”

A smirk falls over Geralt's lips. “Ah, but you said yourself I’m not paying.”

And, well, there isn't much Jaskier can say to his _own freaking words_.

So he follows Geralt into the kitchen, leans against the doorframe so he's still in sight of the breakfast room and points out the location of the pans and eggs. 

“You cook breakfast every day?” he asks, taking a sip of his coffee.

“No time." Geralt shakes his head as he cracks an egg into the pan. "But I try to on Sundays, when the studio is closed."

Jaskier can't help but smile. “Father-daughter bonding?”

“I try,” Geralt admits and ducks his head but he's not fast enough to hide the insecure frown on his brow.

“That’s the most important thing," Jaskier offers, because his father certainly never tried and he just _knows_ it would've made a world of difference if he had.

Geralt shoots him a small smile in thanks before he turns back to preparing his eggs and silence falls over the kitchen.

But silence has never been Jaskier's strong suit, so it doesn't take him long to ask: "Say, do you know what happened between Triss and Yennefer?”

Geralt raises an eyebrow at him. “You’re asking me for gossip?”

“Come on!" Jaskier waves a hand in the air and shoots Geralt a pleading look. "Triss refuses to tell me and you _must_ know something.”

“Not a thing," Geralt shakes his head with a chuckle.

Jaskier sighs mournfully. "So no news that Yennefer might move to our lovely small town now that she's found someone interesting?"

"Seriously?"

"Okay, okay that was bad I admit," Jaskier raises his hands in the air. "I'm just curious. Triss is lovely and she deserves someone."

Geralt just hums as he's apparently decided his eggs are done and he turns off the stove.

"Plates are in the upper cabinet on your left," Jaskier says and then, before his common sense has the time to kick in, asks: “What about you?”

Geralt's produced a fork from the cutlery drawer, and asks “what about me what?” before he shoves some egg into his mouth.

Jaskier takes a breath, tells himself that now he's got to finish what he started and with his heart hammering in his chest asks: “have you found someone interesting here?”

Of course, that's when one of the doors upstairs open and the soft chatter and laughter of the couple staying in the Garden Suite is heard as they make their way down the stairs.

"Ah," Geralt says with obvious amusement in lieu of actually answering Jaskier's question, “seems like there’s some other early risers.”

"Damn it," Jaskier mumbles, before he turns around and gives the couple entering the dining room a warm smile. "Good morning! Have a seat. Scrambled eggs again?"

\---

By the 24th of December rolls around, the B&B is pretty empty.

Sabrina’s parents are there, as they are every year coming down from Ard Carraigh to spend Christmas with their daughter and grandchild.

Aside from them, it’s Jaskier and Geralt and Ciri whose pipe issue has yet to be fully resolved. Jaskier will admit he feels pretty bad for them, but when he expressed his feelings Geralt just sighed and said with a rent this low, he's getting what he's paying for.

But, as there’ll be no commitments for tonight, Jaskier’s lounging on the couch in the living room in his sweat-pants and Christmas jumper.

He’s watching some series on Netflix when Geralt and Ciri pass by in the hallway.

“Bye!” Ciri waves, wearing a Christmas sweater as well, “we’re off!”

Jaskier gives a wave back and sits up to ask: “Going to Vesemir’s?”

Ciri grins excitedly. “Jup! Uncles Lambert and Eskel are there as well. That’s why we couldn’t stay at grandpa’s place.”

Ah yes, he remembers Geralt mentioning that on the phone. But with all the excitement of the two of them needing a place he’s forgotten.

“What are you doing?” Ciri asks.

Jaskier chuckles. “Ah, nothing quite so elaborate! I have a date with a salami pizza, red wine and the Grinch.”

The excitement drops from Ciri’s face. “You’re going to spend Christmas Eve on your own?”

Jaskier shrugs. “Have for the past few years.”

It’s really not that big a deal, he thinks.

But Ciri turns to Geralt with a frown. “Dad?”

Geralt looks at him, seems to consider his options and then, very surprisingly, offers: “Join us?”

“What?” Jaskier blinks. Join Geralt and Ciri on the Rivia family Christmas dinner?

Geralt nods. “You know us. My dad.”

“Plus, uncle Lambert and uncle Eskel will love you and grandpa makes food for a _village_ anyway. It’ll be so much fun!” Ciri adds, giving him an excite and slightly pleading look.

“I mean...” Jaskier starts, and he’s certain something’s decided to get stuck in his heart. Squeezing it tight and blowing it up all at the same time. “If you’re sure.”

“We are!” Ciri exclaims, “right dad?”

Geralt hums and gives Jaskier an earnest nod.

“Right,” Jaskier breathes because he’s somehow gotten himself invited to Christmas dinner with Geralt’s family. “Suppose I better get out of these sweat-pants then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all, just a small note that the next chapter will be the last one for this fic! I'd initially thought to add 2, but with how all scenes have worked out it will be 1 instead.
> 
> Ready for the ending? I know I am ready to share it tomorrow!


	8. Chapter 8

Jaskier is _not_ nervous when Geralt lets them into Vesemir’s home with a spare key.

He’s not fidgeting when they take off their coats and shoes because there’s no reason to be.

They’re just… friends? Acquaintances? Jaskier knows what he wants them to be, but he certainly doesn’t know what they actually _are_. But, in any case, there is nothing to worry about. This is just a cozy, Christmas dinner.

He even knows Vesemir already!

“We’re here!” Geralt calls.

Not nervous, Jaskier reminds himself

“Fucking finally!” someone calls back from the other room.

Ciri grins. “We brought someone!”

A chorus of _what, who_ and _how_ accompanies the scraping of chairs and footsteps against a wooden floor as three grown men make their way over to the hallway and try to get a first look at Jaskier.

Or rather, two of them do.

A man taller and broader than Geralt with a scar running down what Jaskier thinks is still a remarkably friendly face, who gives him a small smile. “Hello there.”

A shorter man, with fierce red hair and curious, sharp eyes that shine teasingly as they land on Jaskier and he croons: “a boyfriend?”

And last, standing behind what Jaskier assumes are his sons, Vesemir who looks equal parts amused and exasperated. “Hello Jaskier.”

The redhead turns shocked, betrayed eyes to his father. “You met the boyfriend?”

“Friend,” Geralt mumbles, before Jaskier can open his mouth and—sadly—object.

“You sure?” the redhead snaps back with a smirk.

Next to him, the taller one just rolls his eyes at his brother and tells Jaskier: “nice to meet you.”

Jaskier smiles back and gives a small wave. “Likewise.”

“He was going to spend Christmas Eve on his own,” Ciri explains before she dashes past her uncles to give her grandfather a hug.

“And how lovely of you to invite him over, _Geralt._ ” Redhead drawls at his brother and Jaskier wonders if this is _normal_ when you have siblings.

He also feels as if he’s missing some clues here, but he’s unsure if it’s wise to _ask_. Not when, actually, the knowledge that apparently none of Geralt’s family seem to mind him having a _boyfriend_ is a terrific tidbit of information.

He just wonders why the fuck they think it’s him.

Vesemir sighs, giving Jaskier an almost accusing look. “And so it is you in the center of a ruckus, as always.”

“You do know him!” Redhead cries.

Vesemir fixes him with a glare. “I live in this village.”

Jaskier chuckles at that. “Best accountant I’ve ever met,” he offers with a grin. “Thanks for having me.”

“Well, I suppose out of all your excuses to come see me, a Christmas spent alone might be the best,” Vesemir offers kindly. Then, he turns accusing eyes to his sons, and admonishes: “besides, at least _he_ can cook.”

“Hey, I can cook!”

Geralt snorts as he elbows his way past his brother into the house. “Fish fingers make a terribly Christmas dinner, Lambert.”

\---

Vesemir sends Lambert—the redhead full of teasing smiles and crude jokes—and Geralt out to chop and bring in some firewood while Eskel—the nice one with the scar—is asked to take care of the table decorations.

Jaskier, who has been assigned to make the gravy while Ciri makes a salad and Vesemir, quite professionally, carves the turkey, raises a curious eyebrow.

“He does a different theme every year,” Ciri says in explanation, and Jaskier thinks that Eskel really is the embodiment of a gentle giant. “It’s always a big surprise.”

This year, the theme seems to be reindeer and they’re beautifully carved out of wood, wandering through a forest of pine branches and candles on the table.

“This year you’re the bigger surprise though,” Eskel tells Jaskier, leaning against the doorframe and watching the three of them busy themselves in the kitchen now that he’s finished with the table décor. “But I won’t complain about the competition. It’s good finally meet you.”

Jaskier pauses his stirring of the gravy to turn to Eskel with a frown. “Finally meet me?”

Eskel nods with a small, smug smile. “You’ve come up in conversation a few times.”

Jaskier chuckles. “Well, Ciri and I are becoming buddies, aren’t we?”

Because surely, if anyone is going to talk about him it’s going to be Ciri.

Ciri, who huffs at his comment. “Not if you say stuff like that.”

“And it’s not just her that’s mentioned you,” Eskel says with a small secretive smile. “Although Geralt didn’t use that many words.”

“As usual!” Ciri laughs.

Eskel chuckles as well and gives Jaskier a curios and amused look. “Apparently you’ve been one of the highlights of moving to Lettenhove.”

Jaskier smirks, quips “of course I am,” before he can stop himself because ah, he thinks, _that_ is why they think he could be Geralt’s boyfriend.

_How delightful._

“Of course you are,” Eskel smirks and Jaskier thinks that perhaps he’s not _just_ a gentle giant.

Vesemir just rolls his eyes at it all. “Don’t let it get to your head.”

\---

Christmas dinner at the Rivia’s is an absolute _hit_ in Jaskier’s opinion.

The table décor looks amazing, the turkey tastes divine and with Lambert sitting opposite of him he’s never wanting for a re-fill of red wine because the moment it looks like he’ll be out with another two sips, his glass is topped up.

It’s a jolly good time, is what it is.

Even when Eskel laughs and points out that “might watch your glass, Lambert’s always trying to get someone shit-faced with him.”

Jaskier raises an eyebrow at the redhead, who just holds up the bottle of wine with a feral grin. “At family Christmas?”

Lambert laughs and waves a hand around the table. “Have you taken a good look at us?”

“He’s extra grumpy this year,” Ciri says.

“Oh?” Jaskier looks around the table curiously, hoping someone will elaborate because he _does_ like a good bit of gossip.

“Hm,” Geralt hums and then leans a bit closer to Jaskier to certainly _not_ whisper: “he misses Aiden.”

“His boyfriend,” Ciri adds before stuffing a large piece of potato into her mouth and giving Lambert a smug look.

Lambert, meanwhile, downs half his red wine and mutters: “he’s _not_ my boyfriend.”

“Oh excuse us,” Eskel says with a sweet smile, “your fuck buddy.”

“And this,” Lambert snarls and refills his glass, “is why I drink.”

“Aw come on,” Eskel says and bumps his elbow against Lambert’s side from where he’s seated next to his brother, “we love you.”

“We really do!” Ciri chimes in with a smirk.

Lambert just grumbles in reply. “Wish you loved me less.”

“Wish you were normal,” Vesemir mumbles, but his lips are turned upwards into a fond smile regardless of his tone.

The evening continues like that, with lots of banter, laughter and probably more red wine than Jaskier should be having.

After the superb main course, they start clearing the table in preparation for dessert. Ciri’s gathering the plates and cutlery, while Lambert stands to pick up the platter with the turkey left-overs.

“Careful,” Vesemir warns.

Lambert rolls his eyes. “I’m always caref— _mother fucker!”_

Lambert’s curse is loud and his eyes widen comically as the leftovers on the platter slide a bit in the juices that have collected in the middle. He pushes the platter forward to try and prevent half of the platter’s leftover contents to spill over the table.

It fails, mostly.

The platter bumps into at least two glasses, the juice drips down the side onto the pine branches in the middle of the table and a piece of turkey flops down onto one of the wooden reindeer with a wet _flop_.

Jaskier scrambles to catch his glass as it bounces from one side to the other and then topples over.

Right down his sweater.

Next to him, Geralt—not having noticed Jaskier’s glass falling over—sighs and gives Lambert a long-suffering look. “Could you at least _try_ to mind your language?”

Lambert picks up the piece of turkey and waves it into Ciri’s general direction. “No words she hasn’t heard before, _grandpa_.”

“Terribly sorry to interrupt,” Jaskier chuckles, because this is _hilarious_ and he wonders if he’s ended up in some sort of Truman show Christmas edition, “but, ehm, it seems I’m wearing a glass of wine.”

All heads turn to him, the fallen glass and the trail of wine going straight to his sweater.

“Fuck,” Geralt mumbles and makes a grab for a pile of napkins.

“Language,” Eskel chides, barely containing his laughter.

Lambert and Ciri aren’t so successful, however, in holding back their laughter.

Geralt growls. “Eskel, I swear to _God_ —”

“Geralt,” Vesemir interrupts, “why don’t you show Jaskier the laundry room?”

\---

The laundry room is a small, cramped space upstairs right next to the bathroom.

“Towels are on the shelf,” Geralt points out. “I’ll get you a spare shirt.”

“Thanks!” Jaskier calls after Geralt and makes a face as he pulls off the now soaked sweater.

Ugh, he hates the feel and sound of wet fabric.

He grabs one of the towels to dry himself. He’s not terribly wet underneath the sweater, but if he’s going to be wearing a dry one he’d rather it stay that way.

“Here, one of Lambert’s.” Geralt appears in the doorway and tosses Jaskier a black shirt while his eyes quickly swipe over Jaskier’s chest in something _more_ than just an assessment of his size. “Looks like it should fit.”

Jaskier smirks at Geralt and takes his time looking at the shirt—which has a print of the Grumpy cat on it, wearing a Santa had with the words _ho, ho, no_ underneath it. If Geralt likes looking at his chest, he’ll happily keep it on display for a few moments longer.

“Thought you might appreciate it,” Geralt says.

“Oh I do,” Jaskier says, but it’s teasing and a bit more of a purr than it is an actual statement. And somehow, he decides that four glasses of wine into his evening and standing half-naked in a small laundry room with Geralt is as good a moment as any.

“So,” he starts and lets his tongue swipe his lips in a nervous gesture before he continues: “you never answered my question.”

Geralt raises an eyebrow. “Which one?”

Jaskier’s happy with the liquid courage coursing through his veins, for he isn’t sure if he’d be so forward to cant his hips, drip his voice just a tad lower than normal to ask: “If you’ve met someone interesting.”

“Hmm,” Geralt hums, but doesn’t offer a reply.

“Your family seems to think you have,” he carries on, hopeful and brazen.

“They do,” Geralt admits and takes a step into the laundry room, bringing him closer to Jaskier as he catches the other’s eyes and asks: “but is that a conversation you want to have in my father’s laundry room?”

It’s a teasing question, but there is something else there as well.

A promise, that when Jaskier brings it up the next time he’ll get an answer.

An answer Jaskier thinks he already has, with how close Geralt is, with their eyes locked and the air around them almost electric.

It wouldn’t take much to lean forward and kiss Geralt, the fact they’re in Vesemir’s laundry room be _damned_.

“No hanky-panky in the laundry room!”

 _Of course_ it is Lambert’s booming voice from downstairs that’s ruining the moment between them.

“Uncle Lambert,” they hear Ciri hiss from what sounds like the bottom of the stairs.

“Ignore him!” Eskel calls, “take your time.”

Geralt sighs and drags a hand down his face. “I hate them.”

Jaskier laughs, content and happy because this is shaping up to be the best Christmas of his life.

\---

That night, Jaskier sleeps warm and fuzzy from both the wine and the conversation with Geralt.

He wakes on Christmas morning, feeling hopeful and only slightly hungover.

He downs a glass of water with an aspirin and heads downstairs in his Christmas pajamas. Sabrina’s parents will have brunch at their daughter’s place so he gets to spend Christmas morning lounging in his pajamas and perhaps have some breakfast with Geralt and Ciri.

The thought of Geralt makes Jaskier’s heart skip in excitement.

Today is the day.

And the moment of truth might come sooner than he anticipated, for when Jaskier walks into the kitchen, Geralt is sitting at the kitchen table enjoying a cup of coffee and the morning sun.

“I will admit, it’s strange to find someone in my kitchen,” Jaskier comments as he walks in, thinking that even if it’s somewhat strange it _is_ the kind of strange he wouldn’t mind getting used to.

“Morning,” Geralt greets.

“Morning,” Jaskier echoes with a yawn and goes to pour himself a cup of coffee. “Breakfast?” he asks. Because if Geralt’s up for it, he can easily cook something.

“I’ll wait for Ciri,” Geralt says with a shake of his head, “you can join us, if you want.”

“I’d love to.” Jaskier makes his way over to the table with his coffee and decides to sit down on the chair next to Geralt. “Will she be long?”

“Another hour probably,” Geralt says and gives Jaskier an amused look. “Hungry?”

“No, no,” Jaskier shakes his head and takes a sip of his coffee in an attempt to calm himself down.

This is it.

“I’m just… looking for an answer to my question and I’d hate to be interrupted.” He gives Geralt an almost shy sidewards glance.

Geralt looks slightly amused. “Again.”

Jaskier huffs. “It would be funny if it wasn’t so nerve-wrecking.”

The amusement on Geralt’s place makes “It doesn’t have to be.”

“It… is.” Jaskier looks down into his cup of coffee. He’s not used to this, if he’s honest. He’s never really had an adult sit-down conversation with anyone before getting together. It’s always been kiss first, ask questions later—if at all. So for him, the whole situation is quite nerve-wrecking, because: “I like you. I tried very hard not to, you know. Single dad, ex-wife, it felt like Valdo all over again.”

“I’m not him,” Geralt says softly, but his voice isn’t condescending. Isn’t offended. It’s a soft observation, full of understanding.

Jaskier shakes his head. “No, you’re not. You’re everything he never was,” he looks up at Geralt and gives the other a smile. He reaches out a hand and places it on Geralt’s knee, his heart beating loud and fast in his chest as anticipation and nerves swirl in his stomach. “I know I wasn’t sure at the beginning. But now that I know you I _am_. I like you, Geralt. I _really_ do.”

“Good,” Geralt breathes and relief is clear on his face. “I wasn’t… I’m not,” Geralt falters and makes a face as he searches for words to try and express himself.

Jaskier finds it absolutely endearing.

Then, Geralt places his hand atop of Jaskier’s on his knee, intertwining their fingers. “I like you too. I'm sorry I didn't answer the question before. I just, I have Ciri to think about, and she likes you but I…” Geralt trails off, leaving the words hanging in the air but Jaskier understands them even though they are unspoken.

 _I had to be sure_.

It’s hilarious, almost, that it seems as if they’d both been worried that the other hadn’t been serious.

But Geralt looks apologetic at his explanation and, well, that just won’t do.

He gives Geralt a reassuring smile and trails one of his fingers over the skin of Geralt’s hand. “You had to be sure, I get that. Have to look out for Ciri. That’s what makes you a great father.”

“And perhaps,” Geralt starts, his eyes on Jaskier and the smallest of blushes staining his cheeks, “I can be a great partner to you?”

“Yes,” Jaskier breathes, heart overflowing with happiness and excitement because he thought he couldn’t have this.

But here he is, getting to lean forward and kiss Geralt. Let their lips slide together in a gentle first kiss that feels like coming home. And as Geralt’s other hand threads through his hair and pulls him in closer to deepen their kiss, Jaskier’s heart swells even more when he realizes that he’s finally found it.

A romance of his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all, folks! This whole thing was so fluffy, the ending makes me want to combust from the sweetness of it and I had a blast writing it (especially the Rivia Christmas dinner)!
> 
> Wishing everyone a great festive season and lots of happiness and joy <3


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A surprise epilogue!

It’s a crisp, clear night with the moon and the stars bright in the sky.

But it’s not a peaceful night.

Not with the big dining room in the Pankratz mansion filled with people laughing, chatting and clinking glasses of prosecco and the balcony leading off of it occupied by laughing teens lightning different kinds of fireworks off into the night.

It certainly is the biggest party the mansion has hosted in recent history, although a thirteen people party is hardly the biggest one the estate has seen. But a party is a party and Jaskier has spent a full two days preparing, excited to have a house full of friends.

Geralt had watched most of it from the kitchen table, a fond look in his eyes and Jaskier had darted over every now and then for a quick kiss. They’ve been almost inseparable since getting together on Christmas day. Their lives slotting together easily and comfortably and Jaskier’s felt as if he’s been floating ever since their first kiss.

And now, on the last day of a _wonderful_ year, Jaskier couldn’t be happier.

He lets his eyes swoop over the guests, making sure everyone still has enough to drink. Sabrina, Dara’s parents and Vesemir are having a chat next to the small snack buffet while on the other side of the room, Eskel is having a drink with Triss and Yennefer.

Jaskier had been surprised _and_ delighted when Triss had called him the day before, asking him if he’d be okay with her inviting Yennefer. “We really like each other,” she’d admitted and she’d sounded so _happy_ that Jaskier couldn’t help but grin. She’d explained that they’re going to try long-distance for now, with Yennefer visiting both Triss and Ciri on the weekends and Jaskier’s got his fingers crossed it will work out. But with the besotted looks the two keep shooting each other, he’s certain they’ll be just fine.

Outside, the teens and Lambert are lightning fireworks under Geralt’s supervision. Lambert had rolled his eyes, saying that “I don’t need adult supervision, Geralt, I _am_ the adult.”

Geralt had merely smirked at his brother, dragged a bucket of water outside and cracked open a beer. “You’re the entertainment, _I_ am the supervision.”

They’ve been outside for over an hour now, and Jaskier doesn’t quite know how for when he steps outside onto the balcony he shivers at the cold. He walks up to Geralt and slides an arm around his boyfriend’s waist. “All right?”

Geralt leans into Jaskier’s touch with a soft hum.

Jaskier smiles and watches as Ciri sets off a rocket. “I know you’re not one for parties.”

Geralt shrugs, looking relaxed. “It’s mostly family.”

They watch the teens for a moment, lightning their rockets which fly into the sky and explode into brightly colored bursts in the sky and their sparklers, which they use to draw figures in the air.

“We ought to go inside,” Jaskier says after a while. “It’s almost time for the count-down.”

Geralt turns to him with a soft chuckle, his arms falling around Jaskier’s shoulders. “Looking forward for the year to end?”

“Looking forward to start a new one,” Jaskier says with a happy smile. He leans in and gives Geralt a soft, slow kiss which the other returns easily and gently. When they part, Jaskier grins. “A new year with you.”

Geralt grins in reply. “Looks like it will be a good one.”

And when Geralt kisses the living daylights out of Jaskier at midnight, Jaskier can’t help but think it will be a good year indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone for reading this fic, I hope it's given you some warm, fluffy feelings towards the end of this disastrous year.
> 
> Tonight, we toast to the end of it. Wishing everyone a happy new year, may 2021 bring us nothing but good things, luck, health and love. We've deserved it after the dumpster-fire that was 2020.

**Author's Note:**

> [Come say hi on Tumblr](https://thevalesofanduin.tumblr.com/)


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